


Begin Again

by Koofins



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Also for any newcomers: this fic is about an OC not just the canon characters, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Dream Demon, Dream Travel, F/F, F/M, Interspecies Romance, It'll be entirely self-indulgent but for now this is just character building, M/M, Not putting any pairings until I'm certain where this will go, Omnic Romance, Other, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Science Experiments, Supernatural Elements, possible slow burn?, tried relisting the tags but it locks them in order -0-
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-06 12:17:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8750530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koofins/pseuds/Koofins
Summary: Which is easier: becoming the monster you've been turned into, or proving the world wrong?





	1. Prologue - Wake Up

**Author's Note:**

> Bear with me, it'll make sense at some point.

The gun was heavy and slick in her hands.

The last part surprised her. She didn't understand why, at first; she'd held guns before, used them on rattlesnakes and omnics. Perhaps it's the fact that she was finally holding it with intent to use it on some _one_ rather than some _thing_.

Her legs were strong, and that surprised her. The weight in her head and down into the marrow of her bones told her that she'd been sleeping for a long, long time. Far too long for her footing to be so sure. But the shape of them was different, more powerful than they had been before, and she was surprised how easy it was to navigate on them.

But she'd walked down that hallway a thousand times. Knew it like the back of her prosthetic hand. Even crowded and chaotic as it was, it was easy for her to navigate around the grunts, the scientists and their families.

No one tried stopping her. It was everyone for themselves, and Koryn knew she was walking against the flow, away from the emergency exits. How she knew this, she didn't know; had walked towards them a thousand times, probably, just like she'd stalked this same hallway.

When the hallway ended, she was still numb, and she pushed the door open.

At one time, she'd thought him beautiful. She couldn't deny that he was still attractive, even if he could no longer hide the monstrous crimes he'd committed from her. Still so perfectly put together, chestnut hair combed back and his suit without a single wrinkle from top to bottom. She'd been staring, and his personal team had been staring at her, until her inaction had finally given one of them enough courage to move. One of the scientists tried to stop her, and she remembers drawing back with the metal that replaced the flesh, skin and bone of her right arm, and he crumpled to the ground from the force of her blow.

“Get him out of here,” she'd growled. Growled, because Marchos Weyer has changed her; she no longer has human vocal chords, and the parts of her body that are still organic are so different than the ones she'd fallen asleep with. She hadn't looked at them, didn't want to, but she could see the horror of it in their eyes.

And then it was just Marchos and Koryn.

She wasn't sure how long she watched him. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the even sound of his breathing, might've comforted her at one point. But on seeing it, seeing him so peacefully resting there, she'd wanted nothing more than for it to stop. It was a stark thought that made gripping his throat easy, made climbing up onto the bed and straddling his chest with the muzzle of the gun pressed between his closed eyes so simple.

He'd turned her into a monster. The same kind of monster he could only wish to become. He'd taken her life away from her.

It was his turn to pay the bill.

Koryn exhaled slowly, and that's how easy it was to squeeze the trigger.


	2. One - Faun Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lonely is just one word chosen to represent so much  
> To tell of feelings inside that the senses cannot touch  
> -Mary Havran

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets a little weird in this chapter, bear with me.  
> EDIT:  
> Switched around some things, flows better. Enjoy!

Whether or not the world was prepared for it, the Other Community made itself known to them.

For every one human being, there was an other. For as long as humankind had existed, so had the other also existed; some for that span of time, even. And for every century, for that millennia, they had perfected hiding in plain sight. But when humankind needed to rise up against one of their greatest inventions, they could no longer hide.

The peace between humans and other was still shaky, at best. There had been questions, of course. Did the drinkers really consume human blood? Did the wolves massacre humans on nights the moon was full? Did witches curse, did dragons breathe fire, did fauns have cloven feet?

No, they did not drink human blood. They'd dropped the term 'vampire' decades ago in the hopes that they came off as less intimidating. It was a work in progress. Unlike the technology that had enabled them to make synthetic blood which, while not nearly the same as the real deal, kept a drinker content enough not to give in to their urges. They were satisfied with it, and it kept accidents from happening.

No, wolves didn't hunt down humans in packs. They did hunt, of course, and each wolf had to eat a certain amount of raw meat in order to make transformations less painful. But the animals they hunted came from their own professionally run conservation operations, which had built up the number of endangered species over the years. Packs unable to pay for the very costly businesses were able to rent out a hunting ground, to keep their people fed and their instincts sated.

Witches only cursed the IRS, dragons _spat_ fire, and yes, Greek fauns did have cloven hooves, but that was generalizing the entire race.

Superstitions still ran high, but the other had been preparing for that for a full century. Classes were proposed and accepted into basic schools, colleges and universities, and the number of human students was promising. Protests were frequent in areas that were still stuck in their ways, but on discovering that many of their police forces or fire departments were run by other, it was easy to see that the other had _always_ been there. And that the other were more human than the monsters they had so long been painted as.

Still, it wasn't easy to be seen as equals. Though the world had become progressive in leaps and bounds, and being accepted was something all humans seemed to be _owed_ , the other usually found it difficult when branching outside of their own community. Koryn had always pitied her fellows that couldn't still pass under the radar.

For her, hiding even when the Other Community made itself known had been a matter of survival in her own home town. Shapeshifters were rare, a dying race because of their coveted abilities. Other than a heightened metabolism, there were few drawbacks to transformations for 'shifters, and many had been able to survive as humans and even escape the notice of the most observant other. Their blood was strong, both in and out of their bodies. Whether it was being used as a feeding vessel or their powers weren't passed on to their children, 'shifters were slowly dying out.

But Koryn's line was strong. One of the strongest out there, so her mother had told her. Her mother, who wasn't a 'shifter, who didn't have a drop of other blood in her veins. Her mother, who hadn't known what Koryn's father was, what Koryn would be, until months after her second birthday she'd received a letter.

Koryn was a 'shifter. Unlike any of her eight siblings, and unlike anyone who lived in her small home town in central Texas. Even her twin sister wasn't a 'shifter like the was. Their blood was strong, like their father told them, but not strong enough to be passed down to both of them.

She didn't have the urges. Didn't need to eat raw meat, though she had the appetite of two people instead of just one. Couldn't cast spells, didn't have hooves.

But she _could_ spit fire.

Even rarer than 'run of the mill' 'shifters, if there was such a thing, she was also a fucking dragon. As if things couldn’t get any worse after her father had ditched her mother and twin sister, she sometimes had a tendency to grow scales and horns. And then there were the other ‘perks.’ 

Aside from spitting fire when she got good and angry, she'd always been territorial over her things, secretive, and had little self control when fine jewelry was left unattended. When she was younger, she'd taken to hiding her mother's rings and necklaces in her toy chest. But as she got older, she'd learned more; she could slip the ring off of a someone's finger without her noticing, pop gold chains off of a person's neck.

The petty theft had all stopped when she'd pushed her luck and tried her hand at a man's pocket watch. She'd been caught as if he'd been expecting it, as if he'd seen her coming a mile away. And the rest was history.

 

The constant sound of a full home had made her feel equal parts comforted and anxious. None of them were like her, though they shared her mother's blood, but they were still her family. The sound of each of them waking up, getting ready for school or the day's activities, gathering for breakfast (which she was notoriously always too late for). It was rare for the house to be quiet.

She should have expected it. Should have known that it would be abandoned. But the silence that fell on her ears when she slid off the opened window sill was chilling. Koryn glanced out of the window, at her hovercycle parked in the overhang in front of the garage, willing herself not to jump back out. Steeling herself, she turned to face the home she'd grown up in.

Twenty three years of her life had been spent here. The walls were as familiar to her as the sound of her own breathing, the number of steps to the second floor and then up to the attic where she and her sister had lived one she'd never forget. The stairs creaked, like they always had, the rest of the house releasing soft noises as the fresh air settled into nooks and crannies that hadn't been touched in years.

She paused in front of the boys' room, the door hanging half open, and reached out to touch the knob. Chance and Keegan had always been the loudest. It wasn't natural, wasn't normal passing by their corner of the house without hearing them shouting at their VR antics. How tall were they now? Had they finally gotten over their fear of the dark? Did they still sleep with a night light?

The stirring of curtains pulled her attention to another door, this one spilling out shades of pink onto the carpeted floor into the hall. Rayleigh's room. Koryn wandered towards it, and her heart almost broke at seeing the chaos left behind: toys and dresses strewn about the room, her favorite blanket hastily stuffed into a suitcase barely the length of Koryn's thigh. Her stuffed rabbit was nowhere to be seen, and that relieved her; wherever Ray was, that worn out toy was with her.

She couldn't bear looking into the other pair of rooms. She'd never been that close to Teri and Pearl, or Lana and Calder. There was nothing for her there, or the room she'd shared with her twin. Faith had helped her clear that out in the week before she'd left for Zurich.

Instead, she found herself standing in front of her parents' strongroom door. A panel separating Ray's room from Chance and Keegan's. The keypad hidden behind the family portrait, one that had been replaced. Despite the sting she felt at noticing they'd taken pains to take any reminder of her out of the house, she was respectful.

Despite everything they'd done to her, she still showed them respect, deference.

They hadn't had time to clear out her stepfather's strongroom. He'd grabbed his favorites, the ones he kept in the house, anyway. The shed had long since been picked apart by scavengers. Koryn stepped past the racks of rifles to the back wall, where the last reminder that she'd once been here, had once been part of their family still remained.

It had been years since she'd touched the case, but the amount of dust on the case told her that her stepfather had still been tending to it in her absence. The last to accept her, truly accept her, and the only one to hold out hope that she'd still be back. Tears burned at her eyes, and she blinked them away as she opened the case. The holster straps were still in good shape, and the scent of gun oil still clung to the foam that the various pieces of her shotgun lay in.

Motions she probably should have forgotten over what feels like a second lifetime came easily to her, and before she knew it, the familiar soft whine of the charge reaching it's full power broke her reverie. She stared down at the rose filigree on the stock, the vines and their thorns curling up and around the grip, all the way to the tip of the muzzle. Filigree that matched the armor plating over the top of her hand, wrist and forearm of her prosthetic, though the designs on her arm didn't change color or glow every fifteen seconds as the charge cycled and renewed.

A wave of nausea hit her, and Koryn loaded the ragged bag hanging at her side with as much ammo as she could. The rest of the back-up charges fit on the belt strap that crossed her shoulder, as it was meant to, and she secured the gun into its holster on her side.

The straps chafed at her back, the base of the tail she was still getting used to, but it would have to do for now.

The house was a little emptier when she left through the same window. None of the food was still edible, but the six case of beer fit under the compartment under the seat of her motorcycle, and the box of her mother's abandoned jewelry would probably fetch her enough to fill up the tank to get her across the state line.

It was impractical, she knew it was, but before she could stop herself she hopped off her hovercycle and back to the front door. The security camera her stepfather had set up hangs broken and useless on it's base, but she found herself avoiding the aim of its lens as she reached up to the plate hanging over their second mailbox next to the front door. The numbers '7013' were faded and rust had started to accumulate, but that hardly mattered to her. Sharpened fingertips made it easier to reach under the plate and rip it clear off the wood, flakes of old paint falling like snow to the front porch. A few fell on top of her claws, and she shook them off before booking it back to her hovercycle.

The steady roar of the engine coming back to life reminded her that there's still sound in the world, and that was the last she ever saw her home.

 

“'Faun Shop.'” The cigarette almost fell out of her mouth, and the laughter under her breath was rough and punctuated by a cloud of smoke. “You've gotta be kidding me.”

Over the years, since the first Omnic Crisis, shops like these had begun to crop up. 'Boutiques' tucked away in shopping strips that hardly saw any kind of traffic, human or other. The windows usually displayed more acceptable wares, souvenirs that were centric to Other Community stereotypes. This one was no exception, though they'd managed to get their hands on faun and satyr mannequins. Koryn was glad for that, glancing down in disgust at the worn skirts she wore, and her bare paws. The latter of which seemed to ache when she took notice of them, and the state of the bandages she'd wrapped to prevent further blistering.

Being a 'shifter meant being able to heal at a much faster rate, but constant hard use on them made it difficult to keep the pads of her paws healed.

The shop owner was the only employee. A cheery young faun with a 'white soccer mom' cut, and the sound of hard footfalls on the wood behind the counter told her that she was a 'Grecian faun.' Her wide, deep brown eyes gave away her fear when she took in the sight of Koryn. _Of course._

“What can I do for you...m-ma'am?” Her voice trembled, the twang was familiar but forced, and Koryn let out a sigh as she hefted her bag up and onto the counter. The faun flinched, but leaned forward when Koryn began to rummage through her things, and if she'd been a satyr, her ears would have tilted towards her when she pulled out the old wooden box and popped it open.

“I need as much as this can get me,” Koryn explained, picking out a dozen of the gold and silver rings and laying them out on the counter. “And however much it'll take for you to forget I was here after you point me in the direction of the nearest other shelter.”

“Mmm,” the woman hummed, reaching out with trembling fingers and poking through the offerings, and then the accessories left in the box. Koryn tried not to curl her lip and growl, but as it was her tail lashed angrily, and the faun snatched her hand back. “Right. Well. Are the tracking chips on these deactivated, Ms...?”

“Smith.” The surname, while not hers, apparently satisfied the faun. "And there were never any chips, far as I know." Koryn waited, leaning against the counter. She reined herself in long enough for the woman to pluck one of her mother's ruby necklaces out, and closed the lid when the rings were snatched up.

“And these are...legitimate possessions of yours?” she pressed, already slipping the necklace around her throat. Koryn found herself momentarily lost in her own reflection on the surface of the center jewel, and cleared her throat to gather her thoughts.

“Inheritance,” she responded, drumming her fingertips against the counter. The faun nodded, pushing her hair out of her face and pinning it back with a bobby pin procured from under her apron.

“Well, Ms. Smith,” the woman said, opening the hatch to the counter and waving her over. Koryn swiftly packed her things, following her to the back of the shop to the private fitting rooms. “I think I'll be able to help you out.”

“Much obliged.”

The next few hours were tense, which Koryn expected. The prey-species typically didn't do well in close quarters with predators. Koryn understood, but was unexpectedly aching on the inside; conversation had been scarce, and the fact that an other was taking such pains to avoid communicating with her...stung.

Still, she couldn't quite bring herself to hate the woman. Before all this, she might've been scared, too.

Finding clothes had been the most difficult part of getting used to how her body had been changed. Skirts had been the only option, but even those could be torn if she wasn't careful with her claws or the heel spurs. The shop owner was able to fix that quickly, and Koryn found herself with three pairs of pants that fit like a dream. Her upper body was much easier to outfit, though Koryn had insisted to keep things simple, if they didn't count the black leather jacket. She wondered at the dragon motif on the back, but the shop owner said nothing on where it came from, only commented that it suited her. And then there had been the matter of footwear, which proved to be a bit more difficult. Eventually they found a pair of leather boots that, while a bit roomy, accommodated for the strange anatomy of her new legs.

It was certainly a vast improvement from the sorry state she'd been in.

“Well, Ms. Smith, if that's all, I'm meeting a client for lunch soon and I need to take inventory to restock.” The faun's eyes glanced away from her, and Koryn glanced at them with a raised eyebrow. She doubted the woman was being honest, but it wasn't her place to question the woman who'd just been paid to clothe her. “If you're happy with your purchases, I'm going to lock up the shop, and--”

“Hold it,” Koryn interrupted, and the faun went rigid, her eyes wide. To compare her to a deer in the headlights would have been apt, if a little offensive, and Koryn tried not to dwell on that thought for too long. “The shelter.”

“...I can't quite recall where it's at, I'm afraid.” Another lie. Koryn grumbled under her breath and pulled out the chest again, tossing the matching ruby ring to the necklace the faun wore. Her eyes lit up, all fear forgotten as she slipped it on, and reached under the counter for something. A card was slid across towards her, and Koryn snatched it up, quickly memorizing the address and the name on the card before she stuffed it into her jacket's breast pocket. “A pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Smith.”

“Likewise.”

The road seemed a little more welcoming once she was on it again, and Koryn felt more prepared for the solitary road trip. A little lighter, definitely more comfortable. Or as comfortable as she would get, which helped her frayed nerves and the growing ache in her chest eased up a little.

...never mind that she'd managed to slip more than half the rings she'd traded right back into the box right under the faun's nose, which filled the inside of her helmet with gleeful laughter for a good half hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, Reaper is literally a cloud of constantly regenerating edge smoke. And then there's the colony of sentient gorillas living on the moon. And the guy that can summon dragons out of his arm and wherever Genji's comes out of.  
> I think I could have come up with way more far fetched things to write about....


	3. Regret, New Mexico

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now I am kept,  
> from dreams I dreamt,  
> when once I slept,  
> so soundly.  
> -Lang Leav

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three in one day? I'm on a roll and I'm so sorry.

Karma, as it turns out, is a bitch.

The town printed on the card had long since turned ghost-town, not counting the gas station and car shop attached. And the boarded up building that was once the shelter looked as though it was on it's last legs, a tall fence and chains keeping anyone from getting close enough to be able to read the 'condemned' tape nailed down on the doors.

Why she thought that a shelter would still be up and running in the middle of nowhere, Arizona was beyond her. But, she'd hoped...oh, how she'd hoped.

That hope was running out. And in it's wake was desperation, anger. She turned her hovercycle back towards the street, willing her hands to remain still as she tried to decide which direction to go next.

Any friends she had were back in Europe, or lost to her. Overwatch was just an ugly smudge in her history now, and Marchos's organization would likely kill her on sight if she tried to reach out to them again.

If they still existed, that is.

In the years that had followed the fall of Overwatch, the world seemed to be slowly collapsing in on itself. Not surprisingly, America was a prime example of just that. More and more, humans and other alike seemed to be retreating away from the country side, fleeing to the safety there could be found in the vast numbers in heavily populated cities. The town that had housed the Faun Shop had been all but empty, too, the most advanced tech looking decades outdated in gas stations and pay phones, and this one was no better.

Koryn wondered if the name given to the town, 'Regret,' had been a curse of some kind. Or that maybe it's bad fortune had just been a coincidence.

Whatever the case, she had to find somewhere to go. Her freedom couldn't mean nothing, having fought so damn hard for it.

Movement at the autoshop caught her attention. A burly figure stood in the shop's door, obviously watching her. Her tail cinched around her waist a little tighter out of habit; though the shelter still smelled like other, she couldn't assume those still living in this town were other as well. Likely, they'd retreated to different corners of the world, leaving the humans who had chased them from this shelter to the town that was slowly dying around them.

Desperation mingled with the sight of her gas readout on 'E' spurned her into motion, and with a groan she rolled the power handle, bringing the engine to a low roar of life before she idled to the other side of the dirt road.

The man was already waiting for her by the time she parked the hovercycle. He was older, decades older than she was, with dark gray hair streaked with vibrant white along the temples close to his ears. The man was also very tall, taller than she'd realized. Easily towering a few feet over her, which wasn't saying much; even so, she was pretty sure her head had fallen back as far as it could go to meet the man's eyes when he approached her.

With his approach came the over powering sense of other. The smell, size and his eyes gave him away. Yellow, like a wolf's eyes, and just as intense. Koryn had only met one werewolf before, but he'd been a halfblood, and the difference was starkly immediate.

“Shelter's been closed for about five years, in case you were curious,” the man announced, his accent subtle and foreign. Koryn swore under her breath, tugging off her helmet and raking her fingers through her hair. The man stared her down for a moment in silence, and gestured at her hand. “You always keep your claws out, kid?”

“Unfortunately,” she ground out, tucking her hand behind her back; another habit. With a long, heavy sigh she hung her helmet on the back of her seat, and held out her mechanical right hand to the man. “Koryn. Koryn Byrne.”

“Byrne, eh?” the man echoed, her hand being swallowed up by his massive palm. The metal of her prosthetic squealed briefly in protest, sending a simulated shock of pain up her shoulder, but she hid the grimace. “Any relation to Carson Byrne?”

“He's the man who donated sperm before running out on me and my twin sister, if that's what you're asking.” She folded her arms after he released her, glancing away as the old wound burned somewhere in the back of her mind. “I have nothing to do with him except what he gave me. And this,” she unraveled the length of her tail from around her waist, letting the scarred tip fall into the dirt. “Is courtesy of a sick fuck who's dead now. But I'm hoping to find an other doctor who knows how to reverse it.”

“If you're looking for a miracle worker, you're asking the wrong man,” the wolf grunted. “Pleasantries aside, I would appreciate it if you left the gun on your 'cycle.” Reluctantly, Koryn unhooked the gun she'd had tucked under her jacket and leaned it against her transport. With an approving grunt, he gestured for her to follow him, and when she hesitated, he raised a scarred eyebrow at her. “If I'd wanted to hurt you, don't you think I would have done so already?”

“Guess so,” she grumbled, and followed the man into the shop. Still keeping her distance, she glanced at the waiting area, the dust sitting thick and heavy on the magazines and window sills. A holoscreen mounted to the wall displayed the news, and Koryn wondered if he'd been watching it when she'd driven over to the shelter.

“If you are seeking a shelter, your best place to look is Las Vegas,” he announced as he led her through the back door into the garage itself. Koryn froze in the doorway, her eyes landing on the vehicle nearest to them.

“Is that a Gallardo?” Her heart pounded hard against her ribs at the sight of it, her tail twitching with excitement. The wolf glanced at her over one burly shoulder, then back to the jet black car, his amusement evident in the way he grunted at her.

“2008 model, yes,” he answered.

“Excuse me while I drool,” Koryn cooed, allowing her posture to go slack. The wolf laughed aloud, throwing his head back as the sound positively exploded around them. She'd been too distracted by the sleek black of the car to notice his approach until one huge hand clapped her on the back, nearly bowling her forward.

“Alright, you're a good one then,” he announced. Koryn rubbed at the back of her neck, trying to rub out the jarring sense of electricity dancing up her spine as she gave the man a confused look. “You aren't the first other to come through here looking for the shelter. St. Aggie's cards are still all over the central and mideastern states.” With one hand he steered her towards the garage door, leading her to a set of folded chairs. Koryn sat down with a long, grateful groan, stretching out her legs in front of her as the wolf opened the garage. “Many of them don't know a 'Ghini from a 'Stang.” Koryn let out an offended sound as the wolf sat in the chair next to her, and he nodded, stroking his fingers through his thick beard. “Yes, it's true.”

“Uncultured kids.”

“Indeed.” The wolf stared at her out of the corner of his eyes for a while, looking at her legs pointedly after a while. “I am not surprised the faun sent you on a wild goose chase. She has a tendency to pick favorites with her own kind.”

“Wait, she's done this before?!” Koryn's hands gripped the plastic arms, and she released them when she heard a series of cracks. “Shit, sorry.”

“You don't know your own strength,” he stated. It wasn't a question, and Koryn felt her skin flush with embarassment. “You really weren't raised with other, were you?”

“No,” she answered, the word flat and empty. About as empty as she felt. Koryn leaned her elbows on her thighs, hanging her head as the weight of her own body, and the world around her, sank in. “I was only beginning to get used to this,” she gestured with her prosthetic, “when I was...forced to be this.” She lifted one booted paw, and then let it fall heavily against the concrete. “Even in college, I didn't know any others. I tended to avoid them, because of what I am.”

“That sounds like a crock of mellodramatic bullshit if I've ever heard any.” The deadpan tone the wolf spoke in made her head shoot up, and Koryn stared at him as he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. The offense at his words was immediately forgotten when he held out a second one, and then a lighter. Koryn shook her head, holding the cigarette between her teeth and switching the settings on her prosthetic index finger until the tip bent back, and a tiny gout of flame shot to life. The warmth of the smoke instantly relaxed her unbearably tight muscles, and she flicked her wrist, resetting the computer built into her palm. “Guess you'll never need to waste money on lighters, then.”

“Not like I have any money to waste in the first place.” She exhaled a plume of smoke, her chest still aching some at her perdicament. The wolf grunted, taking a long drag off of his own cigarette and allowing the silence between them to drag on.

“Look,” he ground out at length, “usually, I send other on their way with the right directions and hope that they don't get lost in the desert. There is not much between Regret and Arizona, besides miles.” He went silent, and she could see something dark and sad in his eyes. “I see the vultures sometimes. They aren't as old as I am, usually. They're just kids. They don't know how to find their way.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Her voice had a harder edge to it than she intended, and there was hurt in his eyes, briefly, but she couldn't bring herself to feel guilt over it. There was too much hurt in her own heart for her to be able to handle anyone else's.

“Maybe I'm tired of not knowing if someone is going to make it,” he answered, and shrugged. “Maybe because you know cars, and probably know how to work on them, if you've kept that bike running long enough to make it from Phoenix to Regret.” He rolled his shoulders and flicked ash off the end of his cigarette into the empty cup at his side, heaving out a long sigh. “Maybe because I've been sitting on enough cash to pay someone to help out around the shop. And you look like you could use the money.” He stared pointedly at the hole that had grown across her knee in her jeans, and she shifted uncomfortably, trying to cover it with a hand.

“I don't know you from Adam, with all due fucking respect,” she said between her teeth, turning to hide the embarassment from him. He laughed, deep and hearty, slapping his knee with enough force that it echoed throughout the garage.

“Reginald Kinsolt.” He reached out across the makeshift ash-tray that separated them, and this time his grip was gentler, and she was struck by how impossible that seemed given his size and the amount of scars that covered his hands from fingertip to wrist. “Friends call me Reggie.”

In quick succession, her options listed themselves off in her mind.

After the Swiss incident, she'd been out for five years. Whatever Marchos had done to her during those years had changed her body, possibly irreversably. And he'd guided her actions in dreams, in a realm that he held dominion over, to do his bidding as he saw fit. She had killed, spied, and ruined lives in those dreams.

The reality that she had actually taken lives, had truly committed those crimes, and that Marchos had lied to her, told her that she'd only been dreaming...had pushed her over the edge.

She'd killed Marchos. Put a bullet between his eyes and felt the life slowly ebb out of his body. And while he'd deserved it, there had been a good five or six witnesses that could easily pin that blame on her.

Her family had been gone for years from their home. Wherever they were, she doubted they would ever want to see her again. Or that she would ever want to see them.

She was lost. Truly and fully lost. No family, no friends, only a hovercycle and a bag full of dirty clothes and a gun that had probably been transferred to her stepfather's ownership when she'd been declared dead.

There was nothing for her. Not anymore.

Just...questions.

“How did you know my father?” The question surprised them both, and Reggie settled back in his chair.

“Would you believe me if I told you your father came to St. Aggie's...mm, twenty-five years ago?”

“Honestly?” Koryn grinned at him, and the soreness in her muscles reminded her that it had been a long time since she'd smiled. “I've heard crazier stories.” She let out a long sigh, running a hand over her hair. His response had opened up a slew of new questions, but her answer took precedence. “Alright. I guess I'm your girl for the job.”

“Excellent,” he crowed, his eyes narrowing at the edges with his responding grin. Koryn felt unexpectedly warmed by the sight, and shook herself mentally. It would be easy to attach herself to the sense of familial belonging that this man exuded, but the tension in her chest and the fear still running circles in her mind kept her wary. Kept her closed off. “You start in the morning. You know the basics, yes?”

“Enough to keep that old girl in one piece, like you said.”

“Good. It's a start.” He gestured for her to stand, and led her through the garage again, out the back of the store front into the open desert that gaped in all directions around the station and the road it was situated on. A trailer had been parked in the dirt, and by the looks of it, it was getting on in years, the weathering testimony to its age. Reggie paused at the door, letting her step past him and push open the door.

Clearly, it had been lived in, and well taken care of for as long as it had been parked here. Koryn marveled that it didn't have the same stale smell that trailers usually did when she'd been inside of one. The shag carpet muffled her footsteps as she walked through the kitchen, running a hand over the plastic cover of the table, and sat down on the edge of the seat. Reggie leaned halfway through the door at an angle, watching her with an almost smug expression on his face.

“It's in good shape, isn't it?” he prompted. Koryn nodded, eyes falling on the coffee machine, and Reggie worked an arm through the doorway that was obviously much too small for him to maneuver through to one of the cupboards. “There should be some coffee up top, to the left. If it has gone bad, I will get some more for you.”

“You can't fit in here,” she observed, raising an eyebrow at him. “How's it in such great shape?”

“My nephew used to live here,” he responded. “He kept it in very order before he left for Las Vegas.” The trailer shook when he pulled his arm out with a grunt, and she could hear him walking around to the other side of the home on wheels. His voice boomed easily through the window over the sink. “The plumbing still works. I'm afraid the signal for the holo went out years ago. I have been meaning to look into that.” He came back around to the door, and poked his head back in. “I'll get your bike and your gun for you, if you like. She is yours for as long as you're here.”

“Where do you live?”

“Just down the road, behind the dollar store.” He winked at her. “I think a grown woman can handle herself in the middle of nowhere. And besides, there is not enough room for you and my wife in my bed.”

“Ugh, pervert!” The insult was as lighthearted as his insinuation. Koryn found it easier to relax around him by the moment, and while the idea of it was scary, the act itself was simple. The huge wolf was about as harmless as a teddybear, and his ability to accept her this quickly was...unexpected. She wished all other could be as welcoming, or that all of humanity could be as accepting. As it was, he'd been stuck with her, and she felt a rush of gratitude wriggle through the cracked shell around her heart.

“I am sure you're exhausted,” Reggie observed at length, pulling her out of her thoughts. Koryn nodded, leaning an elbow against the table as the fatigue truly began to hit her. “Then I shall leave you to it. Get some rest.”

“Thank you, Reggie,” she called out before he shut the door. The wolf leaned back in, his smile warm and content, and with a nod, he left her.

The bed wasn't the comfiest she'd ever slept on, but given the fact that she'd been sleeping on the road under highways when she could sleep, it felt as if she had fallen face first into a cloud.

Her dreams were comforting that night, memories of better times, of safety, and a gentle wolf watching over her from afar.


	4. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And I know, I know that I did you wrong,  
> But will you trust me when I say  
> That I'll make it up to you somehow, somehow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one? Yep. This one should explain some things, and bring up a lot more questions.

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.” She runs her tongue across her lips, her hands flexing and uncurling. She closes her eyes, opens them again to find he's standing in front of her, with the glass separating them. His silver eyes watch her for a time, holding hers, and he nods to one of his assistants.

“We're filling the tank now, Aisling.” Her code name for the project and the team. Marchos smiles at her, briefly, and lifts a hand, pressing it to the glass, over where her heart is under the harness. Her heart seems to swell, and she feels a rush of affection for the man. Room temperature liquid laps at her ankles, and slowly rises, swirling around her knees. But she's safe so long as he's watching her, safe so long as there's an echo of the love she feels for him in his eyes.

The water rises, and her body is floating by the time that swirls above her head. The mask that supplies her with oxygen echoes with the sound of her breathing, and she lets the water's gentle rocking slowly lull her to sleep....

Just like he's taught her.

_Do you see it?_

“Yes.”

_Tell me._

“The Prime Minister's room. He's sleeping.”

_And where are you?_

“The ceiling.”

_Focus on the floor, Aisling. You need to get closer._

The voice in her thoughts is Marchos's. The one she answers with is her own. She's never questioned it, not since that first time, six months ago. It's gotten easier to answer him in full sentences rather than in images and memories of words others have said to form disjointed responses. And it's become much, much easier to move of her own volition in these simulations.

When her feet hit the carpet, she doesn't really feel the weight of her own gravity reaffirming itself. It's implied, really; it seems to come from inside her head, a memory of landing when she pushes herself off of a table, but her legs are longer and she's heavier. It shouldn't make sense, but her mind doesn't notice, or care.

_The Minister, Aisling._

She refocuses her mind, and begins to move.

She's at the man's bedside in a blink. He's still sound asleep, his suit jacket lying in a heap on the floor, the covers in a wrinkled mess under his body. She reaches out and touches his arm, and she knows it's Marchos guiding her actions, because of the tingle that arcs up the prosthetic that isn't there in the simulation. It's her flesh that touches the Prime Minister's shoulder, squeezes, much harder than she would have, and he's awake with a gasp.

“ _Good morning, Charles._ ”

“Oh,” the Minister blinks owlishly at her and turns so he's sitting on the edge of the bed, facing her. He doesn't question her, and a tiny voice in the back of her mind wonders why he's so accepting of the presence of an Overwatch trainee he's never met.... “Hello.”

“ _Did you sleep well?_ ”

“Not really,” he answers without hesitation. “I haven't been getting much sleep lately, you see. The omnic base in Seoul has gone black, and I'm expected to advise the Commander-in-chief to send more forces in to discover why.”

“ _And? Will you?_ ”

“I...don't know.” He looks down at the carpet, conflicted. “We already have soldiers aiding in the fight. Our casualty rate is low, morale is high.”

“ _Take the money._ ”

“Oh.” He blinks at her again, nonplussed. That tiny voice in her head wonders why she isn't surprised about knowing about any bribe, but again, it's squashed out by something else. “You think I should?”

She smiles. It isn't her smile. She feels the simulation beginning to fail as she nods, reaches out and squeezes the Minister's shoulder again.

“ _Absolutely._ ”

Before the tank begins to drain, her mind clings to a single thought:

That she wasn't speaking with her own voice during that simulation.

It's Marchos's.

 

It's the last simulation for a while. Until the augment scars heal.

Given her rate of healing, she gives it a few months. Though, don't vampire—drinkers have a rule about that? Sever the spine and you kill the beast?

Or are those werewolf rules?

She doesn't know. Doesn't want to think about it, or the impending surgery. Just has to focus on the simulation again.

It's become easier to complete objectives without Marchos's instruction. She's able to understand what needs to be done and how to do it. Though the simulations have become increasingly...discomforting.

The last simulation had her watching the two top commanders of Overwatch in a very compromising position without being seen. It had been going well, until dark copper eyes had fluttered open, settled on her, and she'd found herself thrust into a dark, suffocating void.

She feels filthy for weeks after, and isn't able to meet the eyes of either men for twice as long. They weren't supposed to see her. No one has _ever_ seen her.

“Just a malfunction, dearest,” Marchos promises. “It won't happen this time. We've reconfigured everything for all possible outcomes.” 

“I trust you.” 

Into the fluid she sinks, drifts, and she's gone in an instant. Marchos has told her before that's why he chose her; she's so quick to let her mind accept the simulations, it's easier on her than the hundreds of volunteers, scientists and technicians they've tried this on before. 

The abilities of the simulations are far more advanced now. She's soaring over London, leagues and miles away, and settles in a lavish place she does not know. 

Marchos has had her don a suit that obscures her features, and she moves like a living shadow in the jet black garb from the windowsill and down the hall. She's made this run before, once; that one had malfunctioned, too, though due only because she'd never been in the royal palace before. 

The Prime Minister's back is to her. She thinks about lifting her mask to greet him, the urge to remind him of a dream he's had strong. Decides against it at the last minute. And then her arm is moving without her thinking about it, like it hasn't in months, in almost a year, and it's painful because she knows this isn't supposed to happen and her body naturally wants to fight the fault in the simulation. The gun is in her hand, and her grip is firm, steady, as the Minister turns to face her, and the silencer is pressed between his eyes. 

“ _Blackwatch sends their regards._ ” 

__**No!** _ _

Instead of blood, black rushes out of the wound, towards her, latching onto her with a hundred thick, grimy arms and dragging her forward. She's pulled in through the keyhole, and she sees a life that is not her own flash before her eyes. Sees the good he's done, and the bad, and the dreams he's had of _her_ face, this pleasant young woman he talks about world matters with. In his eyes she's so practical, so intelligent, that her suggestions make more sense than any natural thought he's ever had on his own. 

But it's not her eyes watching him. Her eyes are supposed to be green, and yet he sees silver. 

_**He's dying.**_ It's a statement. Not a question. Marchos, who has been silent for so long, keeps that silence. She sees a man's hand in the Minister's, the fond, affectionate smile that fills the Minister's heart with joy, as they turn to the gaggle of children running and creating havoc on a playground. The blond with two front teeth missing is their first, the little girl from India their second, both adoptions but both their children. She feels it in the marrow of her bones for him, and her and the Minister's souls scream in unison at realizing that the Minister will not be able to give his son advice about the girl who works at the coffee shop anymore, that he will not be able to walk his daughter down the aisle when she marries her fiance. 

Heavily booted footfalls pull her from the black for a moment. Just a moment. Just long enough for her to see the door being kicked down, and there is Commander Gabriel Reyes. Commander of Blackwatch, and the ultimate authority over Dreamscape. Dreamscape, the groundbreaking technology that would open the door to a new era of intelligence gathering, interrogation, making scouting missions so much safer and the need for a life to be risked null. 

Dreamscape: Marchos's greatest work. 

_Dreamscape._ It suddenly makes sense. She sees the resignation, bitter and full of regret, in Commander Reyes's eyes, the same dark copper eyes as before, as he lifts his shotgun. And she can almost feel the cool metal of it press against the dead center of her chest, sees him saying something to her-- 

The sound of her own harsh intake of air is grating on her own ears. Dully she realized she was on her hands and knees, that she'd pulled the mask off before the fluid had begun to drain. Her lungs burned, and she coughed up the bluish fluid, curling in on herself and pressing her forehead against the damp, flat surface under her. The chatter outside of the tank came through muffled, equal parts excited and alarmed, and she heard the pressure release on the emergency lock to the door. 

Hands gripped her arms, hauling her up and onto her feet, and the blanket that was settled on her shoulders scratched horribly against her skin. The world spun, dots of black and white dancing in her vision, until it settled on silver eyes, locked onto them as Marchos stood before her. 

“What,” her voice was rough, croaking out of her, and she coughed up another mouthful of the tank's fluid. Her strength was quickly failing her, and she lifted her eyes to his with every last bit she could scrape together. “What _was_ that?” 

“Another failure.” His words would have cut her like a knife, and they had during the last time she'd climbed out of that tank. But something else, something unnatural coiled in her gut, twisting the hurt at his disappointment into something thick and dark that filled her veins and made her vision clear almost instantly. 

“Like hell it was,” she snarled, and wrenched her arms out of the grasp of his assistants' trembling fingers. She wrenched the blanket off of her shoulders, shoving it into Marchos's chest and shouldering past him. 

“Where do you think you're going?” 

“I'm turning myself in,” she snapped over her shoulder, and the room went completely silent. The scent of their fear should have served as a warning, tinged as it was with desperation, and the overpowering sensation of Marchos's rage crashing against her. “And I'm taking all you bastards down with me.” 

 

The trailer is filled with the sound of her sudden, violent intake of breath, the squeal of the the bed. Sweat has made her body clammy, sliding down her forehead and neck. Throwing the covers off of the bed, she stumbled to the bathroom, bile burning at the back of her throat. She was powerless to stop her body's instinctive need to purge itself, could only cling to the sides of the toilet bowl and hope it passed quickly. 

When the sickness passed, she pushed herself away from the toilet, leaning against the shower door, pushing the slick black strands of her bangs back. Her hand lingered, holding onto her scalp before letting her hand slide, metal touching metal in the dead center of her upper back. The power cell hummed, and she pushed, releasing it from the pod. Suddenly the weight and unnatural tug of the metal where natural body parts should have been was unbearable. She ground her teeth together as she pushed herself to her feet, groping around the sink for a short, glowing cylinder, giving off the soft glow of a fresh charge. The soft hiss as it was placed in the cell holder between her shoulder blades was comforting, and almost instantly her body felt normal again. 

But it wasn't. 

Nothing about her was normal. Had never been normal. The shattered slivers of the mirror mocked her with a dozen tiny reflections of her face, neck and chest, the scar tissue that marred her skin, standing testimony to how her body had been irreparably damaged, changed when she'd been too close to death to do anything about it. 

The ceiling window showed the slowly brightening sky above her, casting light over the thick metal that covered the artificial spine, illuminating the steam released from releasing old chemicals and medicated fluids burnt up by the dead charge. The plates settled, locking back into place, her tail sliding heavily across the floor as she stumbled out of the bathroom and into the kitchenette. She groped around in the darkness until her hands found the coffee maker, overriding the schedule to start brewing by the time she sat down at the table. 

The coffee was warm, helped warm her throat and stomach and as she downed her second cup, it began to spread to her chest and limbs. Koryn flexed her fingers, the ones that were still flesh, counted all of her fingers to make sure they were all there. Stared at the two large fingers and thumb that made up her prosthetic. 

In the quiet of her trailer, she wondered if the nightmares would ever end. Scoffed at herself. 

She'd been asking her conscience that question for the past four years, every morning they woke her up in the dimly lit trailer. Of course they would never end. 

The loud, rasping call of a wren heralded the dawn, and roused the desert to greet the day. 


	5. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reggie is smarter than he seems, and Koryn is too curious for her own good. Old habits die hard, but good cooking and an overabundance of cake can be all it takes to soothe old grudges.

By her fifth cup of coffee, Koryn felt alert enough to leave the quiet of her trailer. Plucking the keys and the worn black shirt from their respective hooks next to the door, and stepped out into the open air.

The shop was still empty by the time she unlocked the doors and turned on the lights. A glance at the old paper calendar nailed to the wall over the reception desk reminded her it was Sunday, and she grunted behind her sixth cup.

Reggie would be in church, then. With the rest of Regret's population.

Regret, as it turned out, wasn't a complete ghost town. Though it was a shadow of its former self, there were still humans and other who called Regret their home, though they were spread thin within the town's borderlines. Once it had been a small hub of activity, a go-between for other and humans alike that were on the run and headed West. Reggie once likened it to a safe house for fugitives, and remarked how it was still something of a safe haven for those with nowhere else to go....

It was only a few months after she'd moved in until Koryn had discovered what he'd meant by that.

 

Regret was not without a colorful history. For such a small town, this came as a shock for Koryn. It had taken only a few hours for Reggie to tell her about it's founding, when the demand for auto parts with the rise of hover crafts had sparked a need for workers. Regret hadn't always been known as Regret, however.

Though she pressed for the old name of the town, Reggie had been surprisingly closed off about it. Only told her to stay away from the old factory, that it was dangerous from years of disuse.

Of course, the prospect of parts she might be able to salvage had been too good for her to pass up, and when Reggie had left for home that day, she set off.

The road to the factory had long since been left to the elements, and could no longer allow for four-wheeled vehicles to drive across. Luckily for her, the hoverbike only needed lane large enough to fit it's sleek design, and Koryn felt a thrill of smug satisfaction as she added a boost of speed to her bike.

As she'd come closer to the factory, it became increasingly clear that it was not what Reggie had told her. She'd been on recon missions before with her initial training squad; though also left to the elements, the faded Omnica Corporation logo dominating one of the taller towers was still visible. She felt her heart still in her chest, swinging her bike to a stop in front of the rusting gates leading further into the factory.

She wasn't sure how long she'd stayed there, peering through the gates with her hands gripping the handlebars of her bike. The factory had long since gone dark, and the path and asphalt leading to the reception building were overgrown with the thick, sturdy fauna of the desert. Animal trails led in and out of the factory, under the gates and fences. She stepped closer to the bars of the gates, wrapping a hand around the cold, rough metal, and squinted at the shadows.

The area was suddenly flooded with two beams of light, and Koryn nearly fell over her own feet when she scrambled to her bike, ducking behind it. One hand had already swung her shotgun on it's strap so she could aim, but the voice that called out stopped her from loading a clip.

“Koryn?” Her head popped up over the seat of her bike, and she squinted against the intensity of the lights and the dust kicked up. Reggie stepped out of the huge van, the only type that could likely accommodate his size, and came around to stand between his and her vehicles. He sighed when their eyes met, and folded his huge arms across his chest. “Come out from there, please.”

“You wanna tell me about this first, old man?!” she shot back, turning to stare at the Omnium behind her. Standing slowly, she turned to take it all in, her grip on her gun loosening before she pulled the strap until the gun was left resting against her back again. “It looks...ancient.”

“It's older than you, perhaps,” Reggie mused. His voice had drawn closer, and Koryn took a step back, pulling her bike with her as she turned on the wolf. His brows lifted, and there was genuine hurt in his yellow eyes. “Koryn, I—”

“I don't much appreciate being lied to, Reggie,” Koryn interjected, her hand gripping the strap of her gun reflexively. He grunted his disapproval at the motion, and she peeled her fingers away from the nylon with great reluctance before combing her fingers through her hair. “The whole reason why I'm here, why I went looking for the shelter, is because a man lied to me. Took my life away from me.” She gestured with her right hand to her legs, swatting her tail to one side and sending up a cloud of dust. “Turned me into _this_.” For a moment it was too much to handle, and Koryn looked away from the old man. Surely it was just the dust that made her eyes burn. “Give me one reason why I should trust you if you're going to lie about something like this.”

“Tell _me_ , then,” Reggie said after heaving a long, resigned sigh, “why I should trust a girl who uses a dead one's name? Mh?” Koryn's head whipped round to stare at him, her jaw hanging open as shock turned her blood to ice. He grunted and gestured at her with his chin. “I've done my research. What reason did I have to believe you after I discovered you were using an ex-Overwatch recruit's name?” He leaned down, close enough that she could smell him: motor oil and wolf's musk, a sort of earthy, warm scent.

“I-I--”

“Do not waste your breath,” he instructed, leaning away from her. “You have proven through your actions that I can trust you, and that you would have no reason to take someone else's name.” His yellow eyes landed on her, held her in place as he reached out, the warmth of his hand curling around her shoulder. “You are not your father.” Those words shocked her to her core, and Koryn wasn't sure if Reggie would ever know that. He released her, giving his back to her as he returned to his van. “Follow me. We will talk at my house.”

Koryn shot a glance over her shoulder at the Omnium. It had been years since she'd seen one last...part of her had an almost unbearable desire to hop the fence and poke around, while the rest of her hummed with distrust of the place. Years of growing up on her step-father's stories about attacking Omniums would haunt her for the rest of her natural life, and yet...

And yet...

Ignoring the pull towards the decaying building, Koryn reseated herself on her hoverbike, and took off after Reggie's van. As the trail of dust left by her bike on the abandoned road began to settle, a figure shifted in the shadows beyond one of the uppermost windows, watching their departure with reawakened interest.

She'd taken the path to his home before, to hand over some paperwork that first Sunday when he hadn't shown. His home was small, a near carbon copy of the few houses that occupied otherwise empty streets in Regret. Two lights were on inside, as well as the porch light, illuminating the sidewalk up to the front door. Reggie stepped out of his van once she'd pulled into the drive, gesturing for her to leave her gun with her bike before he led her to the front door.

The inside of his home wasn't what she was expecting. Reggie kept the shop looking two ways at all times: bland and clean. His home, however, was full of life and personality, vibrant colored walls and various wolf themed décor dominating the front room and hallway. Reggie led the way past an old couch towards the overpowering smell of beef stew, and Koryn felt her mouth begin to water as her stomach clenched with the ache of renewed hunger.

“Reggie? Is that you, _Bärchen_?”

“Ja, _Süsse_ ,” Reggie said. His yellow eyes cut to Koryn when she looked up sharply at him, at the slightly tinny quality of the female voice. With a gentle huff, Reggie pushed past her, moving towards the doorway leading into the kitchen. He paused, keeping his eyes on Koryn before announcing, “We have company, Iva.”

“Oh, someone's come for dinner? I hope they like stew—oh!” With an echoing clatter, the ladle the omnic had been holding over the steaming pot fell onto the surface of the oven. Accents of gold and off-white armor chassis was visible under the high-waist dress and checkered apron the omnic wore, painting the picture of a futuristic house wife. “Reginald...who is this?”

“Iva, I would like for you to meet my apprentice, Koryn Byrne.” At the last name, the omnic looked up swiftly, the trio of bright blue circles dominating its face plate flashing rapid fire. It was blinking, she realized.

“Reggie...what is this?” Koryn asked, unable to take her eyes off of the omnic before her. Reggie moved past her again, the familiarity in the way he placed an arm around the omnic's waist apparent. Something ugly twisted in her gut, and she took a step back from the pair. Reggie's eyes flashed in warning, and she found herself frozen to the spot.

“Come, Koryn,” he said at last, with a sigh of defeat. He placed a fond kiss to the upper face plate of the omnic before leaving the kitchen, guiding Koryn to the dining area. Self preservation had kicked in, and she allowed him to guide her until they came to the old table and chairs, twisting away from him to give the old wolf a glare. He scoffed at her. “Don't give me that look.”

“I'll give you whatever the hell kinda look I want,” she said, her words an angry hiss, tail lashing with the anxiety and panic that she was barely able to keep held back. “ _What_ is this, Reggie?! When you told me the people of Regret were wary of strangers, I was under the fucking impression it was because they were other, too. That, I could understand. But what the hell am I supposed to think now?! That you've just been hiding a town entirely populated by omnics?!”

“They're not all omnics.”

“Just the one you keep as a maid, huh?” Koryn realized her mistake as soon as the words left her, Reggie's eyes turning sharp. The overpowering waves of irritation and aggression coming from the wolf nearly made her cower, but by some miracle she managed to keep her spine straight.

“Iva is _not_ a maid,” Reggie snarled from between his teeth. Koryn didn't miss that they'd become sharper, more feral from the last time he'd spoke, and took a step back from him. Reggie noticed, closed his eyes, obviously struggling to rein himself in. “She is not a maid, Koryn. She is my wife.”

“...you wanna run that by me again?”

“You understood me the first time,” Reggie said, curling a lip at her after the long silence. “Since you have such a problem understanding it, however, I'll humor you. Iva is my wife in all but legal paperwork. We have been happily married these past ten years, and I have never been happier. We share a home together, we garden together, we even share a bed together.” He paused. “Though, she does not need sleep.”

“You're married to an Omnic,” Koryn said at length, her arms folding as she still struggled to keep from bolting out of the house. “An Omnic.”

“Yes.” One thick eyebrow lifted, chin dipping in a silent challenge. Another tense silence followed, until her resolve finally broke. Koryn gave her back to the wolf, holding her hands up in defeat as she turned to the front door.

“Alright, well, it was nice knowing you, but I'm gonna grab my shit and get,” Koryn announced cheerfully. Her hand closed around the doorknob when she heard a chair being pulled out, and the scent of the stew wafted by her again.

“If you stay, you can have all of the stew you like, dear.”

It would take years to figure out why she turned, and marched stiffly back to the table, plodding herself down in the chair that Iva had pulled out for her. It would be years too late until she realized that Iva's gentle voice, maternal and truly loving, and the openness of her demeanor had been more effective at tearing down the walls around her heart than Reggie's gruff ways ever were.

It would be years until she realized that the stew offered in the absence of an olive branch had cemented a friendship between herself and Iva.

And so it was that Koryn found herself seated at the Kinolt dinner table listening, as she devoured six bowls of stew, to Reggie's complete recollection of the town of Regret. Once known simply as 'Other,' Regret had been the site of one of the first altercations between omnics and humans, who had at that time lived side-by-side with other. Other had always been an open community, though only it's own inhabitants had been privy to the knowledge that humans had been aware of the other presence since it's forming.

But more than thirty years ago, in the blink of an eye, nearly eighty percent of Other's population had been wiped out. Only Reggie and a small pocket of other had survived, and it was only after the intervention of the newly formed Overwatch's best strike force that they managed to begin rebuilding the town.

“I went to the Omnium with one of their commanders, a young man still wet about the gills,” Reggie told her, wiping the broth from his tenth bowl from his chin. Iva tutted next to him, plucking the napkin folded in her lap and wiping the remaining fluid from his beard. The wolf grinned fondly, a little sheepishly at her, before he continued. “One of his scouts had discovered that the Omnium had been taken over by a 'god program,' which started the conflict in the first place. We were going to make sure that the program was contained and offline, when we stumbled across an old supply shed on the grounds.

“When one of his soldiers managed to break down the door, we found a group of Omnics, huddled together, none of them able to fight. Except one.” Reggie's yellow eyes turned to fondly regard Iva, who turned her attention to the napkin as she began refolding it neatly in her lap. “She stood between us and the broken apart Omnics, one against a dozen, protecting thirty of her siblings that were too broken to defend themselves. I had never seen anyone so brave in all of my years.” He reached out, offering his hand to hers, and the scarred fingers curled around the pristine metal. “She was terrified. But she dared us to come after her. Dared us to harm those she had hidden away from the god program, knowing it would dismantle each of them and use them for spare parts for its Bastion and other armed forces. So, we let them live.”

“Overwatch didn't take them in?” Koryn asked, leaning forward against the table. Reggie chuckled and shook his head.

“The commander offered, but after we cut the power to the Omnium, there was no reason to.” He lifted a brow. “And I gave them reason not to. Overwatch's forces might have been strong, but I can be... _persuasive_ , when I wish to be.”

“By persuasive he means intimidating, dear,” Iva said, and Koryn surprised herself with the laughter that burst out of her. Iva's laugh was unmistakable, the artificial sound of mirth sounding more natural than Koryn was expecting. “So, you know how we were taken in by a wolf. We have been able to remain out of the public's eye for years, because the population was so small to begin with, and after we helped rebuild the town, we won over the survivors.” Her tone was sad, genuinely so, and Koryn was struck by it as she continued. “We mourned the lives of the factory workers our kin destroyed. We still do.”

“How have you managed to keep everyone safe?” Koryn asked, frowning deeply in thought. “You said there were thirty Omnics. Is everyone really that spread out in Regret?”

The pair exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them before Iva hefted out a very human sounding sigh. “Many of them have either had to be shut down, or left. There are only ten of those that I saved that still live in Regret.” Iva held her chin in her free hand, leaning heavily against the table with her elbow. The optic lights seemed a little dimmer on her face plate, and Koryn was taken aback by the wave of sympathy she felt for her. “Some of them joined Overwatch, and we haven't heard from them since. When Reggie told me about you, I had hoped you might've known one of them, but...it seems you rarely dealt with Omnics.”

“No,” Koryn said, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. “I—my organization, that is, we never dealt with Omnics unless we were sent in to...deactivate small scale Omnic forces.” She risked a glance at Reggie, who's expression remained attentive, though it gave away nothing of what he thought. “We were trained that Omnics were to be tolerated, not trusted.” She sighed heavily, looking away from the pair as shame washed over her, pushing her earlier alarm and suspicion away. “And I might be holding onto an old man's antiquated view about Omnics. I grew up on stories about the height of the Omnic Crisis, and the aftermath.” 

She glanced at Iva, unsure of the roiling emotions that clamored for her complete focus, though she settled for apprehensive. “I'm not going to lie. I fought Omnics in the old Omniums that would come back online now and then. Terrorist groups and gangs tried to use them to start the fight again, and I was part of one of the forces during my first year to help...diffuse those situations.”

“You did as you were trained to do,” Reggie said, as if it made perfect sense to him. Koryn gaped at the wolf, shocked by his practical tone, and Reggie cocked that same eyebrow at her. “I'm much older than you think, Koryn. Though I wasn't part of the Omnic Crisis, I've fought in wars before.”

The thought that more stories might be told about not one, but _multiple_ stories about wars the old werewolf had fought in piqued Koryn's interest. But before she could press him further about it, Iva had collected their bowls.

“I do hope you'll be staying for dessert, Koryn,” Iva said, in a sing-song tone that drew Koryn's full attention. “We'll be having chocolate cake.”

“Can werewolves have chocolate?” Koryn asked, dropping her voice to a whisper. Reggie let out that same belly laugh that seemed to put all other fears at ease, and winked playfully at her.

“So long as it's chocolate cake, it isn't deadly.”

 

Koryn smiled fondly at the memory as she reconnected the new brake line, her fingers making quick work of ensuring that it was secure. She'd never gotten to ask Reggie in the four years she'd been in Regret about the other wars he'd fought in, and he never asked her why she'd returned from the dead. It had been an unspoken agreement between them, that though the curiosity could sometimes eat away at them and make them both question who the other was, there was still enough trust to keep them on friendly terms.

It had taken much longer for Koryn to get used to the Omnics in Regret. Iva had been the first, though she owed that to the fact that Iva had insisted Koryn show up for Sunday dinner every week, and Iva being one of the best cooks she'd ever been fed by. It had taken weeks until Koryn hadn't caught herself staring, a year before she knew which gestures and what body language to associate with Iva's emotions. A few months until she'd been introduced to the rest of the Omnics, who'd been giving her a wide berth until they felt she was safe. A precaution she realized wasn't unfounded, when she'd been surrounded by all of them one night and nearly launched herself into a panic attack.

Reggie was always present during those first years, making sure she wasn't afraid, that his presence was near enough to calm her. Until eventually Koryn was truly a member of Regret, and the Omnics that lived by the surviving humans and other began going through the motions of daily life without avoiding her notice, greeting her on the street or in the shop with a familiarity that was foreign to Koryn for quite some time.

It took her exactly three years to realize that she'd been accepted into a new family, and another year besides to accept it fully. Not without a little help though.

...mostly in the form of chocolate cake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all ready for shit to get real. I know I'm not. 8')
> 
> Also, if anyone was wondering what Koryn looks like, here's her refsheet! Warning, slight spoilers for the story; though hopefully not too much.  
> http://spookoofins.tumblr.com/post/154236665196/you-do-not-have-permission-to-use-this


End file.
